


on sixth place and carnations

by seunggilonice (howsheblushes)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Canon Compliant, M/M, hanahaki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 04:29:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11006013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howsheblushes/pseuds/seunggilonice
Summary: in retrospection, seunggil should've known that things were going too well for him.written for day five ofseungchuchu week 2017





	on sixth place and carnations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



In retrospection, Seunggil should’ve known that things were going too well for him. 

After making it to the 2017 Grand Prix Final, and placing sixth with his highest score ever, something was bound to go wrong soon. It was simply how the universe seemed to work; he’d be on top of the world, and get knocked right back down in a matter of time.

Like last season, when he’d placed second at the NHK Trophy, only to place last at the Rostelecom Cup, letting down his coach and his country in the process. Well, they didn’t _tell_ him that, per se, but he guessed they were all disappointed in him anyway. He had some of the lowest scores that season. 

The Grand Prix Final Banquet was obnoxiously loud. Seunggil, in all honesty, would rather have been on a flight back to Seoul at that moment, back to his apartment and his Siberian Husky. But, like his coach, Minso Park, had said, it was incredibly rude not to attend. Especially if you placed last; that just looked like bad sportsmanship. So he suffered through it.

He supposed it wasn’t entirely bad, though. Other than the noise level and Yuuri Katsuki and Viktor Nikiforov getting _entirely_ too hands-on with each other - like seriously, get a room - it was actually kind of enjoyable.

He’d spent most of the night with one of his few friends in the skating world, Phichit Chulanont, who had placed fifth. They mostly talked about things like Viktor’s return to skating this year (as if Seunggil needed another person on the ice that he could only dream of matching up to), Christophe Giacometti’s first year of retirement, the season in general, and plans for the next. Phichit left to get a drink, and his mind began to wander into different, more personal topics.

Seunggil was, by definition, a selfish person. He was very aware of that, that he was only interested in what benefited him, what made him a better skater. But there was no way you could apply something like that to love, which was the complete opposite of selfishness; the concept of giving everything you have to someone, simply because you adore them.

Frankly, that thought was a little terrifying to him. There were too many possibilities, too many varieties of outcome, in relationships. Change always scared Seunggil.

And then, of course, he simply had to fall for the human equivalent of the sun, Phichit Chulanont.

The thing was with Seunggil and his crush… he wasn’t entirely sure he was meant for it. Especially after thinking about it for a while. 

It started slowly, of course. Phichit was a very attractive person; that wasn’t deniable. And Seunggil, in all his homosexual glory, knew how to appreciate attractive guys. But what started as “hey, we’ve known each other for a while and you’re hot” turned into “holy _shit_ you’re actually really cool too” after a few months. In public, Phichit seemed to carry himself with such easiness. Like charisma was something that came naturally to him, as normal as breathing; unlike Seunggil, who was about as charismatic as a smashed egg.

Maybe it was that quality of him that made Seunggil so attracted to him; perhaps it was Phichit’s endless kindness, or his passion for movies and photography. Whatever it was, the part of Phichit Chulanont that made him Phichit, it was awe-inspiring. And it gave Seunggil the worst case of butterflies known to humanity.

In short, he was everything Seunggil aspired to be, not to mention a damn good skater. It was pure luck that Seunggil had made it to the GPF, really. He’d been having a lot of chest pains recently, which had made skating gradually harder. 

Seunggil felt cold, clammy, and like someone was sticking a knife into his chest. “Ah, I’m sorry, - I’ll be right back,” he excused himself, racing off to the restroom.

He made it into a stall and locked it behind himself, hunched over the toilet bowl, chest heaving. He was most definitely sick. A passionate fit of coughing struck him, entire body rocking with it. When it finally stopped, he gazed down.

A single flower petal laid in the middle of the toilet bowl.

It struck him. Hanahaki disease - a condition which made flowers bloom in the lungs, caused by unrequited love. If it wasn’t cured, you’d suffocate. Hanahaki was rare; only about .02% of the population ever contracted it. It would explain the cold and the chest pains, as well as why it had been harder for him to skate recently.

If there was one thing Seunggil was certain of, it was that there was no way he could let the press know about it. They’d take a story like this and run with it. He wouldn’t let his skating career be ruined by some flowers. Seunggil flushed the petal down the drain, washed his hands, and headed back to the banquet.

Perhaps the flowers would go away on their own?

-

Seunggil had been wrong. The flowers definitely _did not_ go away on their own.

Even during his flight home the next evening, they kept coming up - several pale yellow petals, frayed at the end. The twinge in his chest increased a little.

When he finally got home, he wanted to sleep, but first he had something to take care of. It was too late to pick up Hoppang from the dog sitter, so that would just have to wait until tomorrow. After unpacking, he pulled out his laptop, opening Google and searching for hanahaki. 

He found out that there was a treatment for hanahaki disease - a surgery. But if Seunggil had the operation done, he wouldn’t be able to feel love again. As much of a social shut-in as he was, that didn’t sound appealing to him. He wanted to love someone. He wanted to get married one day.

The only other option was to have the love become requited, or completely fall out of love with that person. Dammit. His only options were to have the kindest person he’d ever met fall in love with him, stop loving him, or never feel love again.

Life liked to mess with Seunggil like that.

The page on hanahaki also said that the type of flower often related to what you were feeling. He figured he’d might as well check. He ultimately decided that they were yellow carnations. “You have disappointed me; rejection,” the page said. Yet another instance of life being absolutely _hilarious_. Because while Seunggil might not have disappointed Phichit Chulanont yet, he was sure he would in the future - and with disappointment came rejection.

-

He tried to continue with his preparation for the upcoming events in the skating world - namely, Four Continents - as normally as possible; however, the flowers continued to grow. Soon enough, Seunggil forgot what it was like to breathe freely, to be able to land a quad without his chest feeling like it was on fire.

Still, he told no one. He could still completely get over this. His throat became raw after days of trying to hold back the petals during practice, then sneaking up and coughing them all up during breaks. They itched his lungs and throat in the worst way possible, making him want to claw his throat out just to make it stop.

In all of the stories Seunggil was told about love when he was a kid, no one ever said that it was supposed to be painful.

-

As much as he tried, Seunggil simply couldn’t get rid of his feelings for the Thai skater. He and Phichit would Skype once a week, and every single time, he’d find another thing he liked about him: his smile, the way he talked with his hands, the thing he did when he laughed and his eyes scrunched together. It sounded like something out of a cheesy romantic movie, the kind that middle aged moms gushed about, but it was true; Phichit was just so relaxed in every way. The way he talked, the way he moved - everything about Phichit Chulanont exuded a feeling of being at ease with the world.

And yet, he was still so _lively_ , with the way that he could talk about something he was passionate about for hours and have it never get boring. He had that special ability to light up a room that Seunggil had always yearned for. He really was everything Seunggil aspired to be and more.

He was definitely, irrevocably, in love with Phichit Chulanont.

-

After weeks of coping, Seunggil sat in the living room of his apartment, trying to figure out _what in the hell_ he was going to do.

His health had been seriously declining over the past few weeks, to the point where Minso Park, his coach, sent him home because she thought he had the flu. (He wished.)

Seunggil knew he probably didn’t have much time left; hanahaki, especially in severe cases, progressed rapidly. So either he needed to fall out of love _fast_ , or he needed to tell Phichit.

The second option was definitely more likely to work.

-

The next night, at about two A.M. in Seoul, Seunggil finally worked up the nerve to call Phichit.

“Hm?” Phichit picked up the phone, and Seunggil could hear the drowsiness in his voice.

“Did I wake you up?” he asked, not wanting to bother the Thai skater despite the situation.

“Nah, it's fine,” he said nonchalantly. “You only call if it's important anyway. What’s up?”

Seunggil took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. “Phichit, what would you do if you had something that would almost definitely kill you? Just rhetorically.”

“What d’you mean?” Phichit asked.

“A disease, Phichit. Like one that didn’t stop you from skating, but made it painful as hell.”

He heard a pause on the other line. “And there’s nothing you can do about it? No treatment or anything?”

Seunggil didn’t even want to think about it. “The treatment isn’t worth it, and the other cures are… really unlikely to work.”

“Well… I’d try to make amends, y’know, with everyone. Don’t want people to hate you when you die.” Phichit chuckled softly.

Seunggil felt tears pricking his eyes. Goddammit. “Yeah, about that…”

There was another pause on the other end of the line. After a moment, Phichit said, “Seunggil… that question _was_ rhetorical, right?”

At that point, Seunggil’s throat was beginning to ache again. More petals would be on their way soon. “I- it’s- it’s hard to explain. Especially over the phone.”

He heard Phichit sigh. “Seunggil, you know you can tell me anything, right? If something’s wrong, I want to know.”

“Alright.” Seunggil cleared his throat. “Phichit, I have hanahaki.”

There was a silence on the other end of the line. “...Phichit?”

His voice was soft, almost _scared_. “I’m getting on the next flight to Seoul. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

“Alright… you stay safe.”

_Click._

-

In the morning, Seunggil called Minso.

“Hello Seunggil, how are you?” His coach asked. “Are you recovering from your flu?”

Seunggil’s chest ached, and not just because of the flowers. “Hi, Minso. I have something to tell you.”

“Oh, is something wrong?”

He felt his pulse increasing, the pain in his throat telling him that more flowers would be on their way. “Um… well. I don’t actually have the flu. I have hanahaki.”

After a moment, Seunggil heard her crying on the other line, and he blanched.

He hadn’t seen her cry since she lost her husband.

“I’m so sorry, Seunggil.”

He was sorry too.

-

That afternoon, Phichit landed in Seoul. He was uncharacteristically quiet during the ride from the airport to Seunggil’s apartment, barely even picking up his phone. Once they arrived at his home, Seunggil showed Phichit where to put his things, chest still aching.

“How long have you known?” He asked quietly.

Seunggil kept his eyes on the ground. “Since the GPF.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” The tears kept flowing. “I - God - I’ve been watching you die for the past three months!”

“I didn’t tell anyone besides my coach,” Seunggil said defensively, “Because it wasn’t their business, and-” _And I thought maybe I could fix it_ , he thought. “And I didn’t want to worry anyone.”

“Worry?” Phichit snapped incredulously, raising his voice for the first time around Seunggil. “You’re literally _choking to death_ and you expect everyone not to worry?”

“It’s not like it was anyone’s fault but mine, okay?” He started to cry as well. “I’m the one who got himself tangled up in this mess, I’m the one who started loving someone who didn’t love him back!”

There was a silence. Finally, Phichit mumbled, “I’m staying. Until everything is over.” He didn’t elaborate on what “over” meant.

Seunggil nodded numbly, streams of tears rolling down his cheeks.

-

It got worse.

The petals came quicker, more at a time. Seunggil spent his days in bed with Hoppang, Phichit coming in to check on him every hour or so. Every time they came up, so would a bit of blood - and the “bit of blood” increased in size, too.

Seunggil wrote his will.

One night, after a particularly awful batch of petals, Seunggil pulled up the covers and _bawled_. He hadn’t sobbed like that since he was fourteen.

Phichit was there. He wasn’t even talking, really - just holding Seunggil. Simply _being there_.

“I don’t want to die,” Seunggil sniffled after the waves of tears subsided, allowing him to get out a coherent sentence.

“You’re not dying on my watch, Seunggil Lee. Not anytime soon.”

The next morning, Seunggil was crouched over a bucket, sobbing as entire flowers fall from his mouth.

“Hey, it's okay, you’re almost there.” Phichit whispered words of encouragement the entire way through.

When the last petals finally fell, Seunggil took a deep, shaky breath. He had forgotten what having clear lungs felt like.

Phichit helped him up, a tiny smile gracing his features. “It was me, wasn’t it?”

Despite himself, Seunggil avoided making eye contact. “It was _always_ you, dammit.”

-

The recovery took time, of course. Seunggil had to throw himself into practice to make  
up for the lost time (Minso nearly sobbed again when Seunggil showed up at the rink, healthy and ready for training). Phichit being there helped. Not literally, of course; he had to head back to Bangkok to get ready for the next season and the Four Continents. But they had Skype, and they had their other social media. One way or another, Phichit was there for Seunggil.

Two weeks later, Phichit finally said it. 

“Seunggil?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I love you.” 

His lungs clear of carnations, free of rejection and disappointment, Seunggil replied, “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to my friend/dad evan, aka sleepynir!! ♡♡
> 
> scream at me [here ](https://www.instagram.com/seunggilonice/) or [here](https://yurionaesthetic.tumblr.com)
> 
> (fun fact: i considered killing off seunggil at the end, but i'm merciful.)


End file.
